Jeong Hye-yun

"Yes, sunbae. I'll pack for the training camp and head over on Tuesday. Yes!!"

I'd gotten a call first thing in the morning from Nam Hyo-jin, the second-year class president of Dongra University's Theater and Film Department.

She laid out the schedule: a week-long training camp starting February 11th, then orientation from the 18th once we got back.

What do I do? I already planned a trip with Mi-yeon, and now this out of nowhere...

In other words: don't even consider bailing.

I thought of those internet posts claiming the Theater and Film Department's hierarchy among the girls was beyond imagination.

When I called Mi-yeon, she was fretting about her own nursing program — then she heard about mine and added, with a little too much relish, that our side was way stricter and I should steel myself. Annoying.

"Gotta go. Yeah, let's meet up after orientation's over."

Which meant I had to start memorizing the seniors' names and faces right now.

I headed out to the living room and booted up the computer. To shake off the dread of the training camp, I flipped on the TV and waited.

Should be in the Downloads folder, right?

I was about to click Downloads when I spotted a folder on the desktop I'd never seen before.

Mom must have set up a secret folder and forgotten to hide it.

The semi-transparent folder was labeled Preference Movies.

Mom watching movies? Not dramas?

I opened the Downloads file first — the one with the seniors' ID photos, names, and contact numbers — then moved the cursor toward Mom's Preference Movies folder.

It had been tucked in the corner, so the clock was visible: not even eight yet.

Just this much tells you how strict they are. Calling at seven in the morning and telling you never to miss a senior's ringtone...

I stared blankly for a moment at the pretty faces of the seniors filling half the Word document, then my attention snagged on the movie titles inside Preference Movies — titles I'd never heard of.

Huh? What's this?

Western films I understood. The term in front of it, though — I had no idea. I clicked Western Films first. Sixteen titles popped up.

Germany. America 1. America 2. France 1...

Did Mom sort them by country?

The moment I clicked America 1, I was pulled straight into the screen.

"Jung-sook. Suck."

The back of a man who looked Black. A masked woman crawling forward on her knees. The camera swung behind her, and the sex began.

A woman who looked Korean. Switching between English and Korean. Women who looked far too happy.

Watching them in every file, a faint sense of unfairness rose in me.

— Hye-yun, you should get a boyfriend too.

— No. Mom said no until I get into college.

— And once you're in, she'll let you?

— Yeah. I can bring anyone home. Just get into college.

The second I'd learned I was accepted, all that suppressed interest in men had started climbing — and these videos answered every question I'd been holding.

Oh my god, they look so happy. Are all guys like that? They're all about the same size. Doesn't it hurt...?

The men on screen all had nearly identical sizes; only the color varied. And every single time one of them went in, the women looked blissful. My imagination took off.

The videos followed a similar pattern: the women on their knees, looking up, sucking. Then taking it deep into their throats, getting slapped across the face — and still loving it. All sixteen of them.

Ah. So that's sex. If I did that too... what would that even feel like?

Some deep, buried pleasure stirred, and all I could think was how much I wanted to be like those women.

The next positions were similar, and before long a few of the videos had them taking it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the ass — and the women looked like they loved that even more.

Oh my god. There...? Isn't that dirty?

Every one of them was happily sucking the thing that had just been inside their own ass.

Videos ranging from thirty minutes to two hours. The same content looping, so I skipped through them fast.

All sixteen files ended. Then I opened the SM folder.

Ah...

Five videos. Every one of them started with a woman kissing a man's feet, calling him Master, then replaying the same sex I'd just watched.

The couples from America 1 showed up again. In one, that Black man kept three slaves and put them all on camera.

The only difference: at the start, they bowed to the man, kissed his feet, and called him Master.

M-Master?

I flinched.

My pants were already soaked beyond control, and even the sticky discomfort couldn't put out the fire of my lust. I was too scared to touch myself, so I just rewatched the videos over and over — and by the time I looked up, it was well past ten.

No. No more... I need to wash.

My body was burning. I stripped off my pants and panties, threw them in the washer, and stepped into the bathroom to cool myself under cold water. I dried off, stepped out — and the phone rang.

In a rush, I wrapped a towel around myself, grabbed the cordless, and headed for my room as I answered.

"Hello?"

A low voice that settled over everything — it sounded like a few of the men from the videos ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd just watched. The ones giving orders. My pussy twitched again, and I felt wetness sliding down.

"Come up to 401."

I scrambled through the dresser for something decent, yanked on a bra and panties, then grabbed a white tee and pink shorts at random and pulled them on.

I never wear this outside. But I don't have a choice. I can't make him wait.

The shorts were way too short — house clothes, the kind I only wore at home — but they were what my hand found, and thinking of him coming up to the fourth floor, I left them on. I snagged a hair tie, pulled my hair back roughly, checked the mirror once, then scooped up the two lease contracts, the stamp, and a pen from the table and headed out.

The house phone rang again. I ignored it. He was more urgent right now; Mom or anyone else who knew me would call my cell. Probably another prospective tenant — and 401 was the only room left.

Thankfully, he hadn't come up yet. I waited in front of 401.

Footsteps rose from below, and my heart hammered in time with them.

He'll be handsome, right? He has to be...

Then he came off the stairs into the hallway, and I exhaled in relief. Not the pretty-boy type — but strong lines, masculine. Like the men in the videos.

"Come in."

Why is my voice shaking? No. Stay calm.

"Okay."

I kept stealing glances at the outline pressing against his jeans, swallowing spit I couldn't stop producing. The men on screen had had exactly that kind of silhouette, and the women had smiled so wide looking at it.

But he didn't seem interested in me at all — his whole focus was on the room and the contract.

Am I not attractive? Haa... why is my body so hot...

From the moment we'd stepped into this room, the heat had been building, and only now ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did I understand: I wanted him so badly I could barely stand it.

And still, his indifference made me angry, and the words came out sharp.

"Please check that the documents are stamped. And this is the account number — transfer by midnight tonight. Once you've sent it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and called me, you can move in right away."

I raised my voice, practically begging him to look at me — and he stayed locked on the contract. I crossed my arms and tapped my foot where his gaze would have to drop, doing everything I could to pull his eyes.

Haa. This guy has zero interest in me.

When he handed the contract back, I even felt pathetic. Then he suddenly grabbed my hand.

Rough... more...

"I, uh — I like you."

Oh my god. Is this guy a first-timer like me?

This masculine-looking man stammering, unable to meet my eyes — it was cute. I was already imagining the two of us together when he startled and let go of my hand.

Ugh, stupid. I should have answered faster.

"Sorry. I was too forward."

It must have taken real courage for him. He bowed his head in apology and walked toward the entrance with his shoulders slumped.

I can't lose him now. I have to catch him.

"I... I'm fine with it."

At those words he turned his head toward me like a robot clicking into place — and he was smiling so wide, so genuinely happy.

My face burned. Suddenly the videos of women saying Master kept flashing through my mind. Only then did I feel how soaked my shorts were, and I twisted my legs together, trying to hide it.

"What?"

God, he's so cute.

"I said I like you too!"

At that, he found the courage to pull me into a hug — and the moment I pressed my burning lower half against him, the pleasure that started there raced up my spine and slammed into my brain.

Aaaah...

"Ah—"

No. What if he heard that?

He fidgeted the whole time, like he couldn't figure out what to say, so I had no choice but to introduce myself first.

"I'm Jeong Hye-yun."

It's embarrassing for a girl to go first like this... no. He seems like a first-timer too.

"Ah — I'm Kim Ian."

I'd been enjoying the quiet pressure rising between us when he pulled away.

"Why?"

"It's too much stimulation. I'm hard."

I looked down. What I'd felt earlier hadn't been a lie — his jeans were swollen like they might split. And when I studied his face carefully, he looked like he was in pain.

"Ah. Th-then at least take your pants off. I don't mind."

"Huh? Thanks, Hye-yun."

Casual speech? The second he dropped the formal register, my shorts got wetter. I watched him undo his pants and stared blankly at his back.

"Ugh—"

A sharp, pained groan. Worried, I walked around in front of him.

"What's wrong? Are you hu...rt?"

What stood rigid under his underwear was exactly what I'd seen in the videos. That exact size.

So that's just how men are. Then I'll make the same faces those women did.

A surge. I felt my shorts getting even wetter. Shame flooded back, and my face burned again.

I swallowed hard.

"N-no. It's just so big that getting hard inside jeans hurts like hell."

"Ah... okay."

Then I noticed him staring straight at my crotch, and I remembered the wet shorts. Embarrassing. Humiliating.

"...It's embarrassing."

"Hye-yun, you take your pants off too. They're only going to get wetter."

His command. Pleasure hit me even harder. And I obeyed — I took them off.

"Huh? Okay."

I stripped the shorts and turned back. He stood there in nothing but underwear, staring only at that part of himself. Another surge, and my panties felt heavier.

"I... hah—"

I saw his intense gaze lock onto my chest and started to pull my own shirt off.

Why... why am I like this.

He gently helped me out of the tee, then looked at my bra — and I covered my chest.

"D-don't get the wrong idea. I'm not usually this kind of girl..."

"I'm not. I don't usually do this with a girl I just met either. I don't know — today I keep getting flustered, and all I can see is you."

"That's..."

He stepped in with a serious face, hugged me, and fumbled for the bra hook — clumsy, hurried.

Definitely a first-timer.

"Pfft. I'll do it."

I undid the bra myself and stood properly in front of him, showing him my body.

"Should we go to the bed?"

"Yes..."

I walked to the bed like a robot, stiff-legged.

A brief silence.

Then he introduced himself properly, and so did I. We learned we were the same age.

And in an instant, we were dating.

"D-does this scare you?"

No. Everyone has sex. What's there to—

I wanted to shout it, but he looked so apologetic that I decided I needed to put him at ease.

I told him about watching the videos. When he still didn't move, I decided to move myself.

"Yeah. Then... want me to do it the way I saw earlier?"